Chapter 7

The ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The Blackwood charity gala was everything I had expected it to be—grand, opulent, and utterly suffocating. Hundreds of guests in designer gowns and tailored suits drifted through the space, their movements as polished as the marble floors beneath their feet. It was a performance, a carefully orchestrated ballet of wealth and influence, and I was the reluctant dancer at its center.

Julian’s hand rested lightly on my lower back as he guided me through the crowd, a gesture that looked intimate but was anything but. His touch was impersonal, like I was just another accessory to complement his perfectly tailored tuxedo. To these people, we were the perfect power couple, the Blackwoods in all their shining glory. But beneath the glittering facade, the cracks in our foundation were deep and irreparable.

“Smile,” Julian murmured under his breath, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You’re making people nervous.”

I forced my lips into a pleasant curve, though it felt like my face might crack under the strain. “Is that better?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Much,” he replied, his tone laced with dry amusement.

We stopped in front of an older couple who greeted us with warm smiles and outstretched hands. Julian slipped effortlessly into conversation, his charm on full display as he exchanged pleasantries with them. I stood by his side, nodding and smiling at all the right moments, though my mind was elsewhere.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how fake this all felt—how fake we felt. To the outside world, we were Julian and Elena Blackwood, the picture of marital bliss. But behind closed doors, we were strangers, bound together by a contract neither of us wanted. The weight of the deception was suffocating, and for a moment, I felt like I might crumble under it.

“Elena?”

The sound of my name pulled me back to the present, and I realized the woman in front of me was looking at me expectantly. She was elegant and poised, her silver hair swept into a chic updo, and her jeweled necklace catching the light with every movement.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said, forcing another smile.

“I was just saying how lovely you look tonight,” she said kindly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Julian is a lucky man.”

I felt my smile falter but quickly recovered. “Thank you,” I replied. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Julian’s hand tightened ever so slightly on my back, a silent warning. I didn’t need to look at him to know he’d noticed my hesitation.

As the couple moved on to mingle with other guests, Julian leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Try not to look like you’re being held hostage,” he said, his tone sharp but quiet.

I turned my head slightly to meet his gaze, my own voice just as low. “I wouldn’t have to pretend if you didn’t make it feel that way.”

His green eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, another guest approached us, their presence cutting the tension between us. Julian slipped seamlessly back into his charming persona, leaving me to stand silently by his side like a well-dressed statue.

The hours dragged on, a never-ending parade of introductions, small talk, and forced smiles. I felt like a doll on display, my every move scrutinized and judged by the glittering crowd. By the time we reached the dining area, where the guests were beginning to settle into their assigned seats for dinner, my feet ached, and my head throbbed from the constant noise.

“Here,” Julian said, pulling out a chair for me at the long, elaborately decorated table.

I hesitated for a moment, surprised by the gesture. It was the first time all night that he’d shown even a semblance of consideration. But as I sat down and he pushed the chair in, I caught the flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual mask of indifference.

The dinner began with a flurry of activity as waitstaff moved efficiently through the room, placing plates of artfully arranged food in front of each guest. Conversation swirled around me, but I found it hard to focus on anything. My fork toyed absently with the delicate arrangement of vegetables on my plate, pushing them into patterns that only I could see.

“Elena,” Julian’s voice broke through my thoughts, drawing my attention to him. He was watching me closely, his expression unreadable. “You should eat.”

I stared at him for a moment, unsure if his concern was genuine or if he was simply trying to avoid the embarrassment of his wife fainting in the middle of the gala. Either way, I nodded and took a small bite, though the food tasted like ash in my mouth.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation and clinking silverware. I felt like I was moving through a dream, everything around me hazy and surreal. It wasn’t until the speeches began that I was jolted back to reality.

Julian stood, his presence commanding as he addressed the room. His voice was smooth and confident, each word carefully crafted to inspire admiration and applause. He spoke about the importance of the charity, the impact it had on the community, and the responsibility of those with privilege to give back.

But as I listened to him speak, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness. He was so good at this, at playing the role of the perfect billionaire, the charming philanthropist. And yet, the man I saw on this stage was a stranger to me. The Julian Blackwood I knew was cold, distant, and impossible to reach.

The applause that followed his speech was thunderous, and I joined in politely, though my hands felt heavy. Julian returned to his seat beside me, his expression calm and composed.

“Impressive,” I said quietly, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

He glanced at me, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Did you expect anything less?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I turned my attention back to the stage, where another speaker was taking the podium. But even as I tried to focus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Julian’s eyes were still on me, watching, waiting.

When the evening finally came to an end, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The crowd began to disperse, and Julian and I made our way toward the exit, his hand once again resting on my back.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said as we stepped into the cool night air.

“Thank you,” I replied, though the words felt hollow.

The car was waiting for us at the curb, and as we climbed in, I realized I was too exhausted to care about the tension between us. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, letting the hum of the engine soothe me.

For the first time all night, Julian didn’t say a word. And for once, I was grateful for the silence.